


i whispered underneath my breath

by cinderlily



Series: we were just kids [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Baseball, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 09:46:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11250597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderlily/pseuds/cinderlily
Summary: The thing about being a pitcher was that his strange little habits were a part of what most people called tradition or normal. He liked that. He had his rituals at home, as well, but the idea of them being seen as normal anywhere was a weirdly comforting idea.That being said, the tradition of not talking to the pitcher when a game was going well… was the one tradition that Sid felt like he couldn’t abide.





	i whispered underneath my breath

**Author's Note:**

> I am currently distracting myself from the fact that I hate my home team. So if you need me, I am in my fantasy world. 
> 
> Title From Ed Sheeran's "Perfect". Get it?

The thing about being a pitcher was that his strange little habits were a part of what most people called tradition or normal. He liked that. He had his rituals at home, as well, but the idea of them being seen as normal anywhere was a weirdly comforting idea. 

That being said, the tradition of not talking to the pitcher when a game was going well… was the one tradition that Sid felt like he couldn’t abide.

It was the bottom seventh inning and he was, as it stood, in a perfect game scenario. And no one was talking to him. Well, the hitting coach had said a few things to him, had asked how his arm felt. Had demanded him tell him the second that he felt a twitch that he didn’t like. But then he scooted four feet to Sid’s left. There was a much larger gap on the other side. 

It should be comforting. It should be nice. It felt like a wall of anxiety being thrown in his face. He watched each of the other pitcher’s pitches. He felt like each ball hit his own glove, the ball slip between his fingers. It was like he was living the game twice as hard. His brain was going into overload.

He felt the familiar slide of a tall body beside him and the back of a hand on his thigh. 

“Gum?” Geno offered. Sid turned towards him and found him holding a handful of Hi-Chew. Not gum exactly, but definitely something as a distraction and he could always go for something sweet. 

He took one and undid them. He put his hand out and took it to his mouth. 

“Dude,” came from down the line. It was Cullen, he was tilting forward. “ **Geno** , no.” 

Geno lifted his brow and tilted his head in the way that he tried on all of the scrums. His English was decent, not amazing but light years ahead of the first half of the season. He’d even taken to driving him around the city and tell him about the city and he seemed to get it. 

“What, no?” Geno said, head tilted. “Sid, want talk?” 

“Yes,” Sid breathed. 

Geno smiled at Cullen. “I talk Sid.” 

“Bad luck,” Cullen said, his face white. 

“Why?” Geno said, and man, he was selling the innocent thing. Like they whole world didn’t know you didn’t talk to someone during a perfect game. 

The curse of _saying_ what it was seemed to outweigh Geno just talking to him though, so Cullen pulled his hat down and exhaled. Sid bit down on the urge to smile. He could see at least two cameras tread on him. No doubt there was much discussion of the breaking of the protocol. 

“Hey,” Sid said, low and with as little motion of his mouth as possible. Geno turned his ear slightly. “Thanks, G.” 

Geno ducked his head but gave a quick nod. His presence was a comfort. Geno started saying stuff in Russian, soft and slow. Nothing Sid would understand, maybe he should be making some effort to learn the language but he wasn’t focusing on that. 

He heard the transition start and the guys run out and his stomach, which had relaxed slightly, tensed back up. Geno tilted his shoulder against Sid and ran forward. He waited at the base of the steps. That was something Sid was getting used to, Geno liked to be the last on the field. Sid was usually the last but … well. For Geno he made exceptions. 

The mound felt a little further away than usual. He jumped over the white line and ran faster than usual. He did his routine and he started the pitching. 

Three up and three down, 9 strikes and they were out. 

The crowd in PNC Park was officially quiet as he walked off the field. He wondered if they knew how unsettling that was. He felt like he was doing something wrong, not good. He felt like he was minutes from coming undone. The pitching coach looked at him and he shook his head, his arm felt fine. He was only in the sixties pitch wise. 

He sat down, glove hanging off his hand and Geno sat beside him. He put his hand out and handed him water and some more Hi-Chews. The things were like crack, he swore he could go through an entire case a week. He opened them up methodically as he listened to Geno talk again, more Russian, though this time he picked up certain things. 

He heard his name, Metallurg, and the name Jeffrey. He wasn’t sure what that all meant but he knew that he was being slightly coddled by his catcher. He was okay with that.

When, minutes later, they got the nod to take the mound again he put his knuckles out and Geno bumped fists with him. It wasn’t something they did, but he felt like it was something worth doing. Top of the ninth. This was it. They were up 2-0. And he was throwing a perfect game. A perfect freaking game. 

Geno bumped his shoulder. 

“Sid,” he said, breaking Sid’s concentration for a second. “After game, Halo?” 

Sid couldn’t help it, he laughed. Not just a polite chuckle, but a belly laugh that came out with a honk at the end of it. He felt embarrassed, and the team all looked at him like he was completely nuts but he wasn’t able to stop himself. He had to put a hand on his chest to remember to breathe. 

“That yes?” 

“That’s a hell yes,” Sid said, going up the stairs and Geno smacked his butt as he hit the grass. 

He made it out to the mound and the butterflies in his stomach bubbled up again all the way until he looked down the line and found Geno knelt down. There was a mask over his face, but Sid thought he saw the smile there either way. He signaled and Sid nodded. 

* 

The aftermath of a perfect game from a rookie, as it turned out, was pretty freaking insane. He assumed it was pretty crazy for anyone but he was being surrounded by people asking how he felt being so young and reaching such a huge goal. His skin felt hot and prickly and the amount of people around him made him a little claustrophobic but he was mostly sure that he answered questions sensibly. 

He hoped. 

There was a scrum, followed by his arm being checked by the guys, followed by a press conference. It was overwhelming, to say the least. When he finished, finally, he went back to the locker room to grab his stuff, he assumed to find it completely empty but there was Geno, seated in his chair beside Sid’s. 

“This big Sid,” Geno smiled. 

“Weird, it’s weird,” he said. That was the underlying thing he _didn’t_ say to people. 

Geno frowned. “Why weird? Sid best pitcher.” 

“Come on G,” he rolled his eyes. 

“Sid _best_ ,” Geno repeated, standing up and punching Sid softly in his non-dominant shoulder. “ _Sid best_.” 

Sid laughed and ducked his head. “Thanks, G.” 

“Halo?” Geno smiled. 

Sid could have cried with relief, even if it was already 11 at night and he was exhausted. “Yes. Very yes.”


End file.
